Enter All Ye Who Seek Knowledge
by Eusebius
Summary: A series of late-night rendezvous in the library leads to a rather complicated relationship between Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. Set in Half-Blood Prince.
1. One

_Disclaimer: JKR is the supreme ruler of the Harry Potter universe._

_A/N: Idea originally adopted from Sweetheart in the corner, via the Twin Exchange forum's _Ideas to Good Homes_: "__It's 4 in the morning and Hermione is studying in the library. However, as she gets up to go to bed she realizes someone she never would have expected is there on the other side of the bookcase! Draco/Hermione!" _

_I may have expanded on the idea quite a bit more than I originally intended, so keep an eye out for upcoming chapters. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Hermione quietly made her way through dark corridors to the library, listening carefully for the sound of other nocturnal wanderers. She'd thought briefly about asking to borrow Harry's Cloak, but didn't think he would appreciate her attempt to research the identity of the Half-Blood Prince in the dead of night. Peering around the corner that led to the library, she quickly made her way to the locked entrance.

_Alohamora_, she thought, not wanting to waste an opportunity to practice her nonverbal spells. The lock clicked and the door opened with a low creak. Hermione's usual safe haven felt ominous as she made her way through the towering shelves, faintly lit by the starlight shining through the high, arched windows. She lit her wand—another nonverbal spell—and chose several large volumes.

Settling in for a long night, Hermione started in on _Notable Magical Names of Our Time_, hoping to find the surname Prince. Inwardly cursing the author for not choosing to organize the book alphabetically, she painstakingly read the names on each page. Finding nothing, she opened _A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry_, turning to the section on Potions. She found nothing about improvements to making the Draught of Living Death, and reasoned that a new edition of Libatius Borage's text would have been made available if the results were known to the public.

Hermione had nearly made up her mind to start in on _Prefects Who Gained Power_, when she checked her watch. Blinking a few times to make sure it really read 4 o'clock, she decided to call it a night. Shuffling tiredly through the stacks, Hermione's mind drifted to her warm bed in Gryffindor tower, and briefly entertained the blasphemous thought of sleeping through her morning classes. Lulled into a false sense of security from the hours spent in the silent library, she neglected to check each corner for other occupants, and nearly collided with Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy!" Hermione hissed after yelping loudly, "What are you doing here?"

Draco's surprised look was quickly replaced by his customary sneer.

"Granger," he drawled, "Out of bed after hours? It's a dangerous time for _Mudbloods _like you to be wandering the castle after dark."

"Thank you for your concern," Hermione retorted, her voice thick with sarcasm. Stalking past him, she noticed the title of the book he was carrying loosely under his arm—_An Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms_. Annoyed that he had evaded her question, she asked, "Isn't it a little late for Charms homework?"

"Contrary to popular belief, you are not the only person in this castle to have opened a book for…extracurricular purposes." Giving her one last look of disdain, he turned and disappeared into the next row of shelves.

* * *

Breakfast arrived far too quickly. Hermione pulled her Arithmancy text out of her bag and reached for a piece of toast. Ron sat down next to her and reached for a large side of bacon, spilling orange juice in the process.

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione huffed crankily, siphoning the liquid up with her wand. Ron's only response was to shovel eggs into his mouth.

Hermione attempted to focus on her work, wanting to make sure that she had the reading memorized before class. Her eyes soon drifted to the far side of the Hall, where the sixth-year Slytherins had just arrived _en masse_ for breakfast. She watched as Malfoy sat down, showing no signs of fatigue save for the large mug he filled to the brim with coffee. Pansy Parkinson reached for the coffee pot, and Malfoy swatted her arm away. He began talking about something to his housemates, gesticulating enthusiastically. Hermione wondered what subject could possibly excite him this early in the morning. At this point, she realized that she had been willingly looking at Draco Malfoy for several moments, and hastily took a bite of toast.

"…wish I knew what Malfoy was up to," Harry was saying.

Hermione coughed, nearly choking on her toast, and hoped Harry hadn't noticed her brief lapse of attention. Ron patted her back genially.

"What could Malfoy possibly be up to, Harry?" Hermione asked once she had cleared her esophagus.

Harry leaned across the table and lowered his voice. "He's a Death Eater, Hermione. Whatever he's up to, it isn't good."

She shared her usual look of skepticism with Ron, and chose not to respond to Harry's morning _Malfoy is a Death Eater_ routine. Changing the subject, Hermione announced her intention to color-code her notes after lunch, and strongly advised her friends to join her. Quickly finishing her toast, she headed off to Arithmancy.

Sitting in front of the fire in the common room later that night, Hermione wished she wasn't so distracted. True, her brain tended to function more effectively after a full night of sleep, but this was ridiculous. She was honestly beginning to worry that she'd been thinking about Draco Malfoy more than Harry had that day.

Even though there was no possible way that Malfoy could be a Death Eater, Hermione still suspected he was up to something. _Extracurricular activities_ didn't necessarily mean _nefarious plans_, but he certainly wasn't in the library at four in the morning because of Quidditch or the Gobstones club.

Of course, if she mentioned her little rendezvous to Harry, he would almost certainly use it as conclusive evidence that Malfoy had a secret Death Eater plot to resurrect the basilisk and set it loose on Muggle London.

Deciding to put last night out of her mind, Hermione brought her focus back to Arithmancy, and the two-foot essay that had been assigned to her earlier that morning.

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_A/N: More to come, ladies and gents. Reviews are greatly appreciated!_


	2. Two

_Disclaimer: As it happens, I am not JKR. If someone could send me some of her hair and the ingredients for Polyjuice Potion...  
_

_A/N: Another chapter for my devilishly attractive readers. Portions of the dialogue taken from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Chapter 12._

* * *

Hermione listened to Leanne's story in Professor McGonagall's office, trying not to remember the sound of Katie Bell's scream ringing in her ears. She held on tightly to Ron's arm as Harry described the way Katie had gracefully risen into the air.

"I think Draco Malfoy gave Katie that necklace, Professor."

Only the graveness of the situation prevented Hermione from rolling her eyes. She worried that this theory, this _Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater_ theory, was becoming an obsession for Harry. It wasn't healthy. She tried to listen passively while he told Professor McGonagall about spying on Malfoy at Borgin and Burkes. She even resorted to biting her tongue, but when Harry mentioned the necklace, she absolutely could not refrain from interrupting.

"But Harry, Borgin asked him if he wanted to take it with him, and Malfoy said no—"

"Because he didn't want to touch it, obviously!" said Harry angrily.

Hermione continued to argue, trying desperately to make Harry see reason. Her relief was palpable when Professor McGonagall gave her final, irrefutable argument:

"Mr. Malfoy was not in Hogsmeade today."

Harry's mouth was left hanging open. "How do you know, Professor?" he asked.

"Because he was doing detention with me. He has now failed to complete his Transfiguration homework twice in a row. So, thank you for telling me your suspicions, Potter," Professor McGonagall said, striding past them, "but I need to go up to the hospital wing now to check on Katie Bell."

Hermione made her way back to Gryffindor tower with Harry and Ron. Harry was obviously upset, so, in an effort to break the tension, she started discussing who the necklace could have been intended for with Ron. Harry seemed interested in the topic, but he continued to mention Malfoy's name, as if he hadn't heard a word Professor McGonagall had said. Hermione gave Ron an incredulous look, which he returned with a look that plainly said, "He's hopeless, don't bother trying to argue."

Making an excuse about wanting to go to bed early, Hermione made her way up the steps to the girls' dormitory. Thinking through the events of that day, she still couldn't figure out who could have given the necklace to Katie. She was almost positive that there weren't any Death Eaters who would casually walk into the Three Broomsticks in the middle of the day. Even with the recent kidnappings, destruction, and death, they were still operating primarily by stealth, and a crowded bar full of witches and wizards didn't seem like the best place for a covert mission. There was only one thing she knew for certain: Draco Malfoy did not give Katie the necklace.

After a few fitful hours of sleep, Hermione sat bolt upright. She couldn't seem to get the sound of screaming out of her head, or the image of Katie's hair blown back, framing her horrified face. She left her dormitory, although logic told her it was probably the safest part of the castle. Hoping to distract herself, she climbed out of the portrait hall, ignoring the Fat Lady's admonishments, and made her way to the library. Once there, she grabbed a large stack of back issues from _Potions Today_, hoping to find something about the Half-Blood Prince. Mostly, she just hoped to distract herself from the likelihood that more people she cared about would become casualties of the war.

Hermione made her way through the shelves of books more carefully this time. Hearing footsteps, she tread softly in the direction of their source. _Nox_, Hermione thought, turning the corner. Draco Malfoy was there, on another late-night research spree. She stayed in the shadows, watching him. He was pacing, clearly agitated, his customarily impeccable hair in disarray. He sat down and began flipping furiously through the book in front of him. Quickly making up her mind, she crossed the space between them and sat her hefty stack of periodicals on the opposite side of the table.

Malfoy looked up. He attempted a sneer when he saw who had sat down across from him, but couldn't seem to muster it. He refocused his attention on his book.

On further inspection, Hermione noticed that he was reading _Moste Potente Potions_. "Shouldn't you be finishing your Transfiguration homework?" she asked.

Malfoy looked up again. He regained his ability to sneer. "Is it really necessary for you to sit so close to me? There are other chairs, you know."

Unfazed, Hermione replied, "It's dangerous to be alone in the castle at night. Even for you, Malfoy. Katie Bell was a Pureblood."

Malfoy flinched at the mention of Katie Bell. Hermione observed him closely, and noticed an almost haunted look about him. His eyes were bright, but they had circles forming underneath of them. Hermione was slightly unnerved by his silence.

"Well, if it's Potions you're studying, feel free to use these," she said, nodding at the stack of _Potions Today_ issues.

"Thank you," he replied stiffly, after a brief hesitation, and turned back to _Moste Potent Potions_.

Hermione stared at him. Draco Malfoy—champion of snide and disdainful comments, staunch supporter of all things Slytherin, and fierce indoctrinate of Pureblood superiority—was being somewhat civil to her. Well, on the bright side, this meant she might be able to get some work done. She hunted through each edition, glad to have a diversion from current events. As she neared the end of her pile, she noticed that Malfoy's head was on the table. He had begun to snore softly.

"_Malfoy_," she whispered. He didn't respond, so she spoke his name a little louder. Finally, she reached over and prodded his shoulder with her wand.

"Mmmhmm," he mumbled.

"You fell asleep," Hermione said.

Malfoy sat up, unsuccessfully trying to maintain his dignity while peeling a page of his book from his face. "I'm fine," he replied, vainly attempting to smooth his hair.

"Maybe you should get some rest," she suggested.

"I don't need rest," he snapped tiredly. "I need coffee. Kreacher!"

The house elf appeared with a loud pop.

"Get me a pot of coffee. Make sure it's Arabica," Malfoy ordered, shamelessly identifying himself as a coffee snob.

"Yes, Master Malfoy, anything for a son of the Noble House of Black," Kreacher said in tones nearing worship. He disappeared for a moment, and returned with a steaming pot of coffee and a large mug.

Hermione watched the exchange incredulously. "That's Harry's elf!" she rebuked.

Kreacher's eye's bore into hers. "Master Malfoy is with the Mudblood, she will taint his Noble Blood, oh yes—"

"Enough, Kreacher." Malfoy dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Yes, it's P_otter's_ elf, even if he rightfully belongs to my aunt. _Potter_ ordered him to work at Hogwarts, where he now brings me fresh, hot coffee at any hour of the day or night," Malfoy said, spitting out Harry's surname with contempt.

Hermione started in on a tirade about his unfair treatment toward house elves, but Malfoy cut her off. "You can have some, if you like," he interrupted, producing a second mug and waving it enticingly in front of her.

Hermione gave Malfoy a look of severe displeasure that could rival Professor McGonagall's, and pointedly returned to her research.

"Suit yourself," Malfoy shrugged. He set the extra mug next to her, and filled it to the brim with the steaming liquid.

At this point, the part of Hermione's brain that concerned itself with the fair treatment of house elves engaged in a fierce battle with the part that had barely slept in the past twenty-four hours. She gave the coffee a longing, sideways glance.

"You're drooling," Malfoy observed.

"I certainly am not!" Hermione returned. Malfoy had already finished his first cup and was pouring another.

She ventured a small sip. Malfoy smirked. Hermione briefly thought of suggesting to Harry that he order Kreacher not to serve any more coffee to Malfoy, but decided that would require too much explanation of her recent nocturnal activities.

In spite of the caffeine, Hermione fell asleep. When she woke, light had just begun to stream through the high windows, and she was alone.

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_A/N: Knut for your thoughts? Please review!_


	3. Three

_Disclaimer: Tragically, I am not JKR. A portion of the dialogue in this chapter was taken from Half-Blood Prince, Chapter 15._

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Hermione kept up her practice of heading to the library whenever she couldn't sleep. Sometimes Malfoy was there already, engrossed in an invariably large text; sometimes he joined her in the early hours of the morning, looking distinctly careworn. Just as often, she spent the night studying alone, but she found herself looking forward to the nights she spent in Malfoy's company. He wasn't exactly friendly with her, but he refrained from calling her a Mudblood, and she found he was much easier to tolerate when he wasn't around Harry.

Despite Malfoy's relatively affable behavior, she had made absolutely no headway on discovering the identity of the Half-Blood Prince, no matter how many obscure texts she scoured. It wasn't about Harry beating her or winning that stupid potion—she knew he scored higher than her in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and she didn't mind. He was top of the class in DADA because he was talented and passionate and worked hard, not because he used someone else's shortcuts while she was frantically stirring and chopping and couldn't seem to figure it out.

What troubled her most was his lack of caution when testing the Prince's spells. He was being so reckless! Hogwarts was dangerous enough; Harry's life was dangerous enough. Hermione hoped that discovering the identity of the text's original owner would help her prove, indisputably, that the book was evil and untrustworthy.

Hermione's quest had led her to read a large number of questionably relevant books. The last time that Malfoy had joined her in the library, she was slightly embarrassed to have been caught reading _Prefects Who Gained Power_.

Malfoy had merely raised an eyebrow and stated haughtily, "Your dedication to the memorization of useless trivia astounds me," before delving into an obscure text on magical forms of transportation.

During the day, she had to deal with Ron's increasingly rude behavior. Very suddenly, they went from being on very amicable terms to downright hostile ones. It was bad enough that he was repeatedly dense whenever there was a party they could attend together. Of course, he couldn't simply talk to her about what was bothering him. She tried to be patient with him, but he was driving her mad.

The last straw was the celebration after the Quidditch match against Slytherin. When she saw him snogging _her_, of all people, the girl she had listened to talk about nothing but boys and Divination and hair for six years, she broke down. Harry tried to be comforting, she knew, but he was nearly as awkward at that sort of thing as Ron. And her _Oppugno_ charm was mean and spiteful, but so was trying to eat Lavender's face in front of their entire House.

She fled. She barely recognized where she was going, until halfway to the library she ran into Malfoy.

He looked ill. His skin was even paler than usual, and the circles under his eyes had grown darker. She suddenly realized he had lost a good deal of weight since the start of term.

"Have you been crying, Granger?" he asked, taking in her red eyes and disheveled appearance. He said this matter-of-factly, as if he was trying to be polite but had no real stake in the matter.

Hermione broke out into another round of tears. "It's _Ron_," she wailed, "he was snogging _Lavender_, and—"

"You're upset about Weasley?" Malfoy asked in disbelief. "But he has _freckles_." Apparently, having freckles was the height of unattractiveness.

Hermione sniffled, "We were supposed to go to Slughorn's Christmas party together."

"You were going to go with _that_ mongrel?" Malfoy sounded almost offended. "Even a Muggleborn like yourself can do better than that, Granger. Find yourself a nice Ravenclaw, someone who can keep up with you. Even a Hufflepuff would be an improvement."

Hermione realized, in his own bizarre way, Malfoy meant this to be comforting.

"Are you headed to the library, then?" Malfoy asked, "There are a few things I wanted to look up."

"But you're sick!" Hermione exclaimed, "You missed the Quidditch match and everything!"

"I'll be fine," he said, waving her off, "Research is very important, you know."

"You need rest, Draco," she continued, exasperated. "What's so important that you can't take a night off to get a decent night's sleep?"

"I thought you, of all people, would understand," Malfoy said defensively.

"I just…I'm worried about you," she said hesitantly, surprised at how concerned she really was.

"Well, don't be!" Malfoy said, his voice rising to near hysteria. "I can take care of myself, I don't need anyone's help, it's my job to do, and I can do it, and I certainly don't need _you_ to look after me!" he finished, storming off.

Nearly two months had passed since Hermione last spoke to Malfoy. When he actually took the trouble to come to class, he studiously avoided looking at her. Her trips to the library were now primarily during the daytime with Harry; on the occasion that she did sneak away to study in the middle of the night, Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

In the meantime, she had managed to get herself into a bit of a mess. She pushed through the crowd of people, desperately looking for a place to hide, when she heard her name.

"Hermione! _Hermione!_" Harry caught her attention.

"Harry! There you are, thank goodness! Hi, Luna!" Hermione took a few minutes to catch her breath.

"What's happened to you?" Harry asked, eyebrows raised.

"Oh, I've just escaped—I mean, I've just left Cormac," Hermione replied. "Under the mistletoe," she added, repressing a shudder.

"Serves you right for coming with him," he told her severely.

"I thought he'd annoy Ron most," Hermione said neutrally. She wasn't particularly in the mood to handle Harry's ill-temper, but anything was better than trying to escape Cormac's garlic breath. Spotting him making his way towards her through the crowd, Hermione dashed off again, hiding behind a tapestry just in time to witness Malfoy's rather undignified entrance. Tired of playing hide-and-seek, Hermione used the commotion to escape to the library.

Taking a break from her relentless search for the identity of the Half-Blood Prince, she wandered through the stacks, reading the titles and occasionally stroking a neglected spine. She abandoned her search with a start when she realized she wasn't alone. Malfoy was standing a mere six feet away, and he was staring at her.

"Draco." She used his name tentatively.

"Hermione."

It was the first time they had used their given names. She felt slightly exposed as his eyes surveyed her dress robes, and she longed for the thick black wool of her school uniform.

"Shall we find a table, then?" he asked. Hemione's stomach did a disconcerting somersault when he placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her to their usual table. After summoning Kreacher for coffee, he asked casually if she had enjoyed Slughorn's party.

Hermione repressed a shudder. "I left early," she said.

"Might I ask why?"

"Might I ask why you tried to gatecrash?" she returned.

Draco smirked. Hermione found it much less appalling than usual.

"I was on my way here, actually," he said. "Filch caught me." He raised an eyebrow, making it clear that her attempt to deflect his question hadn't worked.

"I left early to escape Cormac," Hermione finally admitted.

"_McLaggen_?" Draco nearly shouted.

"I thought he would upset Ron the most," Hermione said.

Draco scoffed. "Are you still mooning over that prat Weasley?"

Hermione felt her ears turning pink. "Not exactly," she replied. Draco appeared somewhat mollified, and poured her a coffee. They fell easily back into their routine-Draco studied a book twice the size of his head, while Hermione skimmed back issues of the Daily Prophet from the year that Harry's used potions text had been published.

"I found it!" Hermione said, tearing out the newspaper clipping in front of her.

Draco stood up and walked over to her side of the table. Leaning over her, he peered at the clipping. "Eileen Prince?"

Hermione hesitated. Despite their unspoken rule not to share their research with each other, she was too excited not to tell him _something_.

"I found the name 'Prince' in a book, and wanted to find out who it was."

Draco gave her a skeptical look. The explanation she had given him was definitely not enough to warrant hours of painstaking research she had spent with him in the library. She opened her mouth and closed it again, still hesitant.

"I found a book that belonged to someone who styled himself 'The Half-Blood Prince,' and I wanted to find out who it was," she ventured. She didn't trust him.

"What was so special about this, 'Half-Blood Prince," character?" he asked, still leaning over her shoulder. He was standing entirely too close to her chair.

"He was…well, _she_ was…I think she was working on some original spells," she said, still unwilling to reveal too much information.

"What kind of spells?" Draco asked, obviously intrigued, "Do you have the book with you?"

"No, it's not mine," she replied without thinking. He looked at her expectantly, but she certainly wasn't about to reveal that the reason Harry had discovered a newfound prowess at Potions was because of some questionable handwritten notations in his second-hand textbook.

Sensing her reluctance, Draco quickly retreated behind a façade of cool indifference. "Well, that's unfortunate," he said.

Unsure of how to respond to his sudden change in manner, Hermione bid Draco goodnight. The next morning, after a veiled message from Harry about some important news, she left Hogwarts for the Christmas holiday.

* * *

_A/N: Stay tuned for more! While you're waiting, how about leaving a review? I'll send you some of Drooble's best chewing gum! :)_


	4. Four

_Disclaimer: Alas! I am not JK Rowling._

_A/N: Thanks for your feedback on the last chapter! Time for some more Dramione in the library. Don't forget to review. :)  
_

* * *

When Hermione returned from the holiday, she had thoroughly resolved to stop thinking about Draco Malfoy.

It was true that they had developed a certain camaraderie in their shared nocturnal habits. And although their chance meetings might have the happy effect of infuriating Ron even more than her date with Cormac McLaggen, she was not prepared to face the betrayal Harry would inevitably feel if he discovered her fraternizing with his arch-rival. Instead of heading to the library, Hermione plodded through the snow-covered grounds to visit Hagrid before meeting with Harry to discuss his important news.

Her resolve crumbled when Harry's important news turned out to be about a conversation between Professor Snape and Draco Malfoy himself. She had to admit to Harry that is was hard to deny now that Draco was up to something, but she couldn't agree that he was a Death Eater. Hermione had hoped that spending time with Draco in the library would give her a clue to help figure out what he was working on; despite watching him pour over some of the library's largest and oldest tombs, she hadn't the slightest idea why he was researching, or what his "extracurricular" project was. She even made a list of books she had seen him reading: texts on obscure charms, forms of magical transportation, Potions, protective enchantments. One night she had even seen him perusing _Hogwarts, a History_.

Unable to gather any insight from his rather varied reading material, Hermione found her thoughts drifting to Draco himself: the way his hair fell into his eyes when he was reading, or the way the corners of his mouth turned upward when she had said something clever. She thought of the way he always poured her coffee himself, instead of relying on Kreacher. She remembered the feel of his hand on the small of her back through the thin fabric of her dress robes.

Once again, Hermione firmly resolved to put Draco Malfoy out of her mind.

She even managed to avoid the library for two entire nights, but after Harry's most recent meeting with Professor Dumbledore, her need to research was greater than her need to avoid Draco. Even if he was studying there, she reasoned, it was better than working in the common room—both Harry and Ron were in horrendous moods. Mercifully, she found the library deserted, and sat down with a stack of rather horrid-looking books, optimistically hoping to find a plethora of information about Horcruxes. In the middle of reading a fairly graphic description of a potion that turned the drinker's intestines into live snakes, Hermione felt her spine tingle. Glancing over her shoulder, she let out a loud yelp of terror when she realized she was no longer alone.

"Are you mad?" Draco whispered furiously.

Hermione didn't have a chance to respond before they heard footsteps outside the door.

"Do you hear that, my sweet? That means students out of bed, that does." Filch began whistling cheerfully.

Draco grabbed Hermione tightly by the wrist and pulled her into a dark alcove near the library's entrance, mere seconds before Filch's lantern shone through the doorway. As he began hunting through the stacks, Draco pulled Hermione out into the hallway. Hermione cast a quick Confundus charm as they passed Mrs. Norris, who had opened her mouth to yowl a warning before shutting it confusedly. Several hallways and staircases later, and she found herself being pulled into an empty classroom.

Draco had the presence of mind to lock the door before repeating, "Are you completely mad? You nearly got us caught."

"You startled me," Hermione said, after catching her breath. "_Potions for Enemies_ is probably better suited to daytime reading," she added. Hermione felt the tension between them relax as Draco chuckled under his breath. She tried to remember if she had ever heard him chuckle before; all she ever remembered hearing was his derisive laughter after a successful verbal spar with one of the Gryffindors. Until a few months ago, Hermione hadn't even realized that his sneer was not a permanent facial feature. She remembered Draco sitting at the Slytherin table during breakfast, swatting Pansy's arm away playfully, and briefly wondered how often Pansy heard him chuckle.

Lost in thought, Hermione failed to notice how closely the two of them were standing. Draco's hand still circled her wrist.

"What have you been working on all year?" she asked abruptly.

Draco's eyes darkened momentarily. "I can't tell you," he replied. "What were _you_ researching tonight?" he asked, turning the tables.

"I can't tell you either," Hermione said simply.

"Well, I sincerely hope you weren't secretly planning on slipping any of those potions into my coffee," Draco said.

"No," she replied, smiling. Her smile was almost immediately replaced by a frown, accompanied by a faint crease in her forehead. "Harry thinks you're a Death Eater."

Draco's body went rigid. His eyes bored into hers, and she found she couldn't look away. Several long moments passed before he asked, "Do you?"

"No." Hermione replied without hesitation. She wasn't sure if that was the answer he was looking for.

"How can you be so sure?" he asked, still tense.

"Well, you wouldn't be doing a very good job of it, spending so much time in the library with a Mudblood."

He flinched at the word. It certainly wasn't the reaction she expected—he used to use it so carelessly. Hermione vividly remembered the first time he had used that word in second year, and had a brief urge to slap him again.

"No," he replied, "No, I suppose not."

He stepped in closer, and her breath hitched. Draco leaned in, and kissed her softly. Hermione found herself kissing him back, and the kiss quickly deepened, her hands clinging to his robes a little desperately. She felt his tongue slide into her mouth, and her mind clouded over with passion. But there was still that slight, niggling suspicion in the back of her brain—as much as she wanted to get lost in the kiss, she had to know for certain. His left hand slid up to grasp the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair. Hermione slid her hand up his arm, and yanked on his sleeve.

The Dark Mark marred his pale skin, the black snake slithering tauntingly out of the skull's mouth. The edges were raised, red and irritated, a constant reminder of Voldemort's presence. Hermione looked at Draco's face in horror, and he returned her gaze, his expression full of seething betrayal. He reached for his wand.

"Obli—"

_Petrificus Totalus_. The nonverbal advantage that had been drilled into her head by her professors this year was the only thing that kept her memories intact. He stared at her, his eyes full of loathing, his expression frozen in hate. Hermione turned on her heel and ran, heedless of the noise she was making, thinking only of reaching the safety of her four-poster at the top of Gryffindor tower.


	5. Five

_Disclaimer: JKR owns the universe. Portions of the dialogue taken from Half-Blood Prince, Chapter 18_

_A/N: A tiny bit of aftermath for you, dear readers. A funny thing called life is happening at the moment, but I'll do my best to keep giving you regular updates!  
_

* * *

Hermione was hyperventilating. Her feet carried her of their own accord, and she was mercifully in front of the Fat Lady's portrait before she could calm down enough to think. Climbing through the portrait hole, she stumbled into Ginny and Dean, faces flushed from their most recent argument.

"Dean, go upstairs," Ginny said without looking at him, quickly taking in Hermione's panicked expression.

Dean rolled his eyes, but thankfully headed to the boys' dormitories.

Ginny led her friend over to one of the couches near the fire.

"Breathe," she instructed. Hermione nodded and took a few large gulps of air. Her breathing slowly returned to normal.

"What happened?" Ginny asked.

Hermione inhaled, but closed her mouth abruptly, not knowing how to tell Ginny what she had just seen.

"_Who_ happened?" Ginny asked, standing up. "Was it Ron? I've learned a few new hexes I wouldn't mind trying out," she said darkly.

"No!" interjected Hermione. "No, it wasn't Ron. Not directly, anyway," she added. She hadn't forgotten that many of her late-night study sessions with Draco had occurred when she was trying to avoid Ron and Lavender's never-ending snogfest in the common room.

Ginny sat down. "What is it, Hermione? You can tell me; I promise I won't hex anyone unless you want me to."

Hermione smiled weakly. "No hexing will be necessary, but thanks." After another deep breath, Hermione said, "Draco Malfoy," and found the whole story pouring out: all of the late nights researching together, their tentative friendliness, her frustration at Ron, Slughorn's party—and finally, the kiss.

Ginny, to her credit, refrained from interrupting until this point. "You KISSED?" she exclaimed. "Good for you, Hermione. I always thought Malfoy would be attractive if he could stop being such a prat all the time."

"Ginny!" Hermione laughed, and began to feel some of the burden lift from her shoulders.

"Well, it's true," Ginny replied pragmatically. "So, how was it?"

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but found herself smiling. "It was fantastic. It was just so…passionate. Victor was very sweet and all, but he never made me feel…."

"Like you were on fire?" Ginny finished.

"Yes, something like that," Hermione agreed. The pair sat in silence for a few moments, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

"Ginny, what about Harry?" Hermione asked seriously.

"What?" Ginny looked up, blushing slightly.

"I mean, can you imagine how hurt he'll be? How am I supposed to tell him? And Ron, things are bad enough between us already."

"They certainly don't have to find out. Did you tell either of them that you snogged Krum?" Ginny asked.

"Well, no, but this is a bit different," Hermione said.

"I guess so. I don't think they need to know about it, though. I doubt Malfoy is going to be running back to tell all of his fellow Slytherins tonight."

Hermione remembered Draco, frozen in a Full Body-Bind, and said, "I don't really think he'll have a chance to."

Ginny raised her eyebrows questioningly. "Oh?"

Hermione hesitated, remembering the Dark Mark. "Well, I panicked," Hermione began haltingly, "and…well, I may have hexed him. Then I ran straight here."

Ginny held her head in her hands and tried to stifle her laugh. "He definitely won't be telling anyone tonight, then."

"No," Hermione grinned. "Thanks for listening, Ginny. I don't know what I would do without you to talk to."

"Anytime. And if there is a next time, be sure to give me all the juicy details," Ginny said, winking saucily.

Hermione said good night and made her way up to her dormitory. Her talk with Ginny had been somewhat helpful, although she had a feeling Ginny might have reacted differently if she hadn't left out one rather impartant detail. She was immensely relieved when she finally collapsed into her bed, but no matter how much she tossed and turned, she wasn't able to erase the image of snake and skull branded on pale skin, or the feel of soft lips on her own.

In spite of her late night, Hermione rose early and made her way down the Great Hall at the start of the breakfast hour. She wasn't ready to face Harry yet. It was unlikely that Ron would notice anything was amiss while his tongue was crammed down Lavender's throat, but she was certain that Harry would. At the very least, he would notice when Draco was missing from the Slytherin table, and she wasn't confident she could keep her facial expression from betraying her.

Sipping on her coffee, Hermione replayed the previous night's encounter in her mind. She began to make a lengthy mental list of different ways she could handle the messy situation, complete with likely outcomes, pros and cons. She wished she could write the list down; she was much more effective when she could use her color-coding system.

Professor Dumbledore walked in, having what looked like an amicable discussion with Professor Flitwick, who was gesticulating animatedly. Hermione's first thought was that, even more than Harry, Dumbledore needed to know that one of his students was a Death Eater. Her second was that if Draco was discovered in the Charms classroom by anyone other than herself, the entire school would know about the Dark Mark before lunch. Abandoning her half-eaten toast, she rushed out of the hall.

Draco was where she had left him, stiff and sneering. She saw his wand on the floor and picked it up, hoping to avoid another confrontation.

"Finite," she said. Draco's body relaxed. He fixed her with a rather harsh glare.

"I—I'm sorry I left you here all night," Hermione said. Draco closed the distance between them, and silently held out his hand. She handed him his wand; her grip tightened on her own.

He leaned in, and his voice was low and dangerous against her ear. "Tell anyone," Draco said, "and there will be consequences."

He swept out of the room without a backward glance.

Hermione managed to avoid Harry for most of the week under the pretext of running to the library every time she saw him. She really did need to go to the library—her initial attempt to research Horcruxes had been abruptly interrupted.

After several unproductive (and rather unpleasant) days, she had only found one mention of Horcruxes She was so frustrated that she entirely forgot she had been trying to avoid Harry.

"I haven't found one single explanation of what Horcruxes do!" Hermione vented. "Not a single one! I've been right through the restricted section and even in the most _horrible_ books, where they tell you how to brew the most _gruesome_ potions—nothing! All I could find was this, in the introduction to _Magick Moste Evile_—listen—'Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction….' I mean, why mention it then?" She slammed the book violently, shoving it back into her bag when it wailed in protest.

As they sat down for supper, Hermione saw Professor Dumbledore rise from his seat at the staff table. She stood up quickly, clapping her hand to her forehead. She had been so absorbed with avoiding Harry and attempting to research Horcruxes, that she had completely forgotten about Dumbledore. Ignoring Harry's surprised look, she dashed out of the Great Hall. Dumbledore was nowhere to be found—he must have taken a shortcut. Hermione raced up a series of staircases to the gargoyle statue on the seventh floor. As she paused to catch her breath, she remembered Malfoy's threat.

_Tell anyone, and there will be consequences._

Hermione shivered. Gathering her Gryffindor courage, she stated the password, "Acid pops." The gargoyle leaped aside, and she quickly found herself knocking on the Headmaster's door.

"Enter," Professor Dumbledore said, looking up from his desk. "Ah, Miss Granger. To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?"

Hermione sat down in one of the squishy chairs across from the Headmaster's desk. Unsure of where to start, she found herself staring at a peculiar instrument on one of the shelves before bringing her attention back to Dumbledore himself. He was waiting patiently, hands folded on top of his work.

She decided to start at the heart of the matter. "Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater."

* * *

_A/N: Every flavor bean for your thoughts? Please review!_


	6. Six

_Disclaimer: JKR rules the world.  
_

_A/N: Thanks for your patience with my haphazard updating! I started a new job this week in Real Life, and it is super awesome. Hopefully I'll be able to stick to updating about once a week. To quote Willy Wonka: "Onward and upward__, backward and forward, off we go!"  
_

* * *

"Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater."

The portraits quickly abandoned their usual pretense of napping to whisper furtively amongst themselves.

Dumbledore peered at Hermione over his glasses. "You seem quite certain," he said, appearing rather unruffled. "I trust you would not come to me if this were a mere suspicion?""

"No, sir. I saw his Dark Mark."

"Of course." Dumbledore continued to look alarmingly calm. "Might I ask how you came to be in a position to see Mr. Malfoy's Dark Mark?"

Hermione felt her cheeks color in what she futilely hoped was only a delicate pink.

"I—er—well, sir, we've been studying together quite a bit in the library."

"I see," Dumbledore said with bright, all-knowing eyes. His look plainly said that he knew there was a bit more to the story than that, but he seemed perfectly happy to accept Hermione's rather indirect explanation. "I must thank you for confiding in me, Miss Granger. Have you told anyone else what you know about Mr. Malfoy?"

"No," Hermione said, hearing the ghost of Draco's threat in her ear, "No one."

"Very good. I'm afraid I must ask you a rather important favor, then," Dumbledore said, raising an eyebrow in query.

Hermione nodded her consent.

Dumbledore continued, "It is of great importance that this information does not spread. I need to know that you can keep it a secret, Hermione, even from Harry."

"I—yes, of course. Harry already spends far too much time worrying about what Draco is up to."

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "I quite agree," he said. "Might I suggest, then, that you encourage him to keep his focus on the task I assigned him? It is of far more importance than anything Draco Malfoy is currently trying to accomplish."

Hermione gave Dumbledore a measured look. He already knew, then, not only that Draco was a Death Eater, but what his task was. "I will, sir," she replied.

As she made her way down the spiral staircase, Hermione resolved to speak to Harry immediately about approaching Slughorn. Although he tried to hide it, Hermione had learned to recognize Harry's thinking-about-Malfoy's-evil-plans facial expression, which was typically followed by him dashing up to his room (presumably to scan the Marauder's Map), and then trudging down the stairs looking dejected. When Harry wasn't occupied by that chain of events, he was reading the Half-Blood Prince's copy of Advanced Potion-Making. This was the first time Hermione could ever remember Harry being truly absorbed in reading a book that didn't pertain to Quidditch.

Absorbed in her thoughts, Hermione turned a corner and collided headfirst into none other than Draco himself.

Their wands were drawn in an instant. Hermione eyed Draco's wand carefully, ready to perform a nonverbal disarming spell at the slightest hint of motion.

Draco's mouth curved into a slow sneer. "Granger," he drawled, stepping toward her with an attempt at swagger.

Hermione took several steps back until she felt the cold stone wall at her back. Draco continued to stalk toward her, his eyes slightly crazed, until his wand was pointed at her throat. Hermione felt the tip of her wand brush against Draco's ribs.

"Have you been following me?" he asked, a frantic edge to his voice. Up close, Hermione could see the effects of his recent habits: the bruise-colored circles under his eyes, the grayish cast to his skin, and the protruding cheekbones of someone who's missed a few too many meals. She was possessed by a sudden impulse to brush the limp hair from his forehead.

Her impulse was interrupted by the harsh tone of his voice. "Well? Answer me!" he demanded.

"No," Hermione returned steadily, "I haven't been following you."

"What are you doing on the seventh floor, then?" Draco continued wildly.

"Draco," Hermione said, "I _live_ here. Gryffindor tower is on the seventh floor."

Draco looked somewhat abashed at the statement of this obvious fact. He lowered his wand a few inches. "You're not spying on me for Potter?" he asked suspiciously.

"_No_, Draco, I—" Hermione's reply was cut off but the sudden yelp of a rather small first-year Slytherin she hadn't previously noticed, who abruptly took off running down the corridor. Hermione couldn't help staring as the girl sprouted into a tall, bulky male, whose robes now covered an indecent fraction of his legs. "Is that _Goyle_?"

Draco raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if silently pleading some higher power to relieve him of the vast incompetence that was Gregory Goyle.

"What are you up to, Draco?" Hermione asked, persistently using his given name.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Who is the Half-Blood Prince?" he countered.

Hermione gave him a small, half-hearted smile. "Our old impasse, then?"

"So it would seem," he replied.

"You look like hell, Draco," she said, after a pause, reexamining the dark circles under his eyes. His eyebrows rose slightly, and she couldn't quite tell if he was offended or amused. "Come on." She led him into a nearby unused classroom, and tentatively called, "Kreacher?"

"The Mudblood dares to call Kreacher, filthy scum not fit to crawl at Master Draco's feet—"

"Quiet, Kreacher. Give Hermione anything she asks for." Draco gave the order authoritatively, years of practice evident from his aristocratic upbringing.

Hermione, with her pervasive need to treat all creatures with respect, tentatively asked Kreacher to bring dinner for two, and a pot of coffee. "Please," she added.

"Kreacher does _not please_ to serve dirty—" Kreacher managed to mutter before disapparating loudly.

Hermione turned to face Draco, silence stretching between them. Having put a great deal of her energy into avoiding him, she hadn't thought of a single way to broach the topic of their last meeting. She busied herself with transfiguring two rickety chairs into a pair of something more comfortable.

Kreacher returned as soon as she had a chance to step back and admire her handiwork. She ignored his muttered insults, busying herself with arranging the dishes on the table.

Draco sat down and poured two cups of coffee. As they dug in to a steaming shepherd's pie and mashed parsnips, he broke their silence, his tone laced with self-mockery. "I hope you're not planning for one meal to reverse the effects of weeks of emaciation."

Hermione chewed thoughtfully, recollecting the half-starved look Harry had after one particularly nasty summer holiday at the Dursleys'. She could remember Molly Weasley piling second—and then third—helpings on Harry's plate at nearly every meal. With a small shake of her head, she heaped another large portion of pie onto Draco's plate.

They ate in silence. Only after the last bite of pudding was finished, the last drop of coffee drained, did she work up the courage to ask him.

"Why, Draco?"

His look was sharp, and Hermione knew that she didn't need to clarify what she was asking.

"My family," he said simply. When her brows knitted together in confusion, he continued, "He'll kill them. My father—"

"Your father has done enough to deserve it," Hermione interrupted.

"He's my _father_!" Draco shouted, "and he'll _kill _him, and he'll kill _Mother_!" Hermione observed as he hid his trembling hands underneath the table. "And then he'll kill me," he added in a small voice.

Hermione fell silent at this. It wasn't the first time she had considered what she would be willing to do if Voldemort ever came after her parents, or what she would do when he inevitably came after her. It wasn't the first time she had thought about what acts she might commit when he came after her friends.

Becoming a Death Eater had never been on her list of options.

"There has to be another way," she said, her mind already whirring into action.

The legs of his chair scraped against the stone floor as Draco pushed it away from the desk they had been using as a table. He was across the room before she had a chance to blink, his hand on the doorknob. Glancing over his shoulder, he said with certainty, "This is the only way." Then, wrenching the door open, he disappeared into the hall.

Hermione thoroughly searched the seventh floor corridors, but Draco was nowhere to be found.

* * *

_A/N: Knut for your thoughts? Please review!_


	7. Seven

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, his exceptional friend Hermione, or his delicious arch-rival Draco. Portions of the dialogue taken from Half-Blood Prince, Chapter 19._

_A/N: I'm still alive. What a crazy life! Thanks for reading.  
_

* * *

The rest of January passed uneventfully. Hermione threw herself into revision, despite the fact that exams were still several months away. She couldn't help but feel that she'd wasted valuable time in her fruitless search for information about Horcruxes. And, she had to admit, her repeated indifference toward repairing her friendship with Ron was putting strain on her relationship with Harry. She found it was increasingly easier to excuse herself to the library whenever she had a spare moment.

Regardless of her convoluted feelings about Ron, Hermione was finding Harry to be increasingly irksome by the day. After their first Apparition lesson, he openly admitted to using the Marauder's Map to search for Draco. Hermione saw him regularly slip the faded parchment into the pocket of his robes as he left the boy's bathroom between lessons. She lectured him frequently about how he should be focusing on procuring Slughorn's memory, and that Dumbledore was very firm when he asked Harry to put Malfoy out of his mind.

The days immediately following these lectures usually gave Hermione even more time to revise.

Given Harry's recent habit of stalking Draco on his map of Hogwarts, she studiously avoided the library after curfew, settling instead for the farthest corner from Lavender and _Won-Won_ she could find in the common room. Even if she could sneak away without having to worry about being discovered, Hermione wasn't sure if she wanted any more late-night rendezvous in the library. She felt her cheeks flare as she remembered the feel of Draco's lips on hers, and quickly pushed the thought down in favor of a particularly tricky runic translation.

During her struggle to fall asleep each night, she grappled with the fact that she was attracted to a Death Eater. Even if he hadn't taken the Mark, Draco was still a Slytherin who had been antagonizing her and her friends for five years. Her mind always seemed to drift back to their most recent conversation and Draco's fierce expression when he defended his decision to protect his family. Eventually, she came to the conclusion that, in spite of his Death Eater status, Draco Malfoy hates Voldemort as much as she does.

The next time Hermione noticed Draco skipping a meal, she made her way up to the Owlery. She painstakingly tied a parcel of leftovers to one of the school owls, identifying herself only by her usual tidy scrawl as she wrote _Draco _on the tag.

Draco was right. One hearty meal would not make up for weeks of skipped meals.

When he did manage to attend meals, Hermione surreptitiously observed him across the hall. She made a mental note of any physical effect of his stress, and vowed to send him an extra helping of beef casserole the next time he missed dinner.

One morning in February, Harry sat down next to her at breakfast, not even gracing her with a greeting before launching into a rant about Malfoy's disappearing act. Hermione barely listened, already prepared to forcefully remind Harry that he really ought to be talking to Professor Slughorn, when something clicked in her brain.

She slapped her hand to her forehead. "Oh!"

Harry paused in his tirade to give her a questioning look.

"I forgot to finish my Arithmancy essay!" Hermione invented wildly, before sprinting out of the Great Hall.

She made it halfway up a hidden staircase to the fourth floor when she stopped, desperately trying to catch her breath. _Of course_, she thought. Now she knew why Draco looked exhausted at breakfast, even when he hadn't been up all night researching with her in the library. Now she knew why she had found Draco and a Polyjuiced Goyle on the seventh floor, just around the corner from the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy.

Draco was using the Room of Requirement.

Hermione burst into the corridor outside of the Hospital Wing, furious when she learned that Madame Pomfrey was not allowing any visitors. She listened anxiously to Harry's account of how Ron had been poisoned in Slughorn's office, and then spent the next ten hours leaning against the wall, arms crossed and jaw tensed.

It was only after she was able to see Ron—and heard multiple assurances from Madame Pomfrey that he would come to a full recovery—that she started to participate in the speculation about who had poisoned him in the first place.

Ginny's comment that the poison could have been intended for Dumbledore was particularly disturbing. "Then the poisoner didn't know Slughorn very well," said Hermione, chiming in. "Anyone who knew Slughorn would have known there was a good chance he'd keep something that tasty for himself."

"Er-my-nee," Ron murmured from his hospital bed.

Hermione felt her spine go rigid as she involuntarily heard the syllables form into something vaguely resembling her own name. After convincing herself that she was hallucinating, she forced herself to focus on the conversation between Harry, Ginny, Fred, George, and Hagrid, who had just burst through the double doors.

"I think there's a connection between the attacks," Hermione said quietly.

"How d'you work that out?" asked Fred.

"Well, for one thing, they both ought to have been fatal and weren't, although that was pure luck. And for another, neither the poison nor the necklace seems to have reached the person who was supposed to be killed. Of course," she continued ominously, "that makes the person behind this even more dangerous in a way, because they don't seem to care how many people they finish off before they actually reach their victim."

Hermione left the hospital wing with Harry and Hagrid, leaving Ron alone with his family. Hagrid was able to provide information they could only hear from a teacher: Hogwarts was, once again, in danger of being closed.

"Surely not?" Hermione asked, while her brain, unable to help itself, entertained the horrifying thought of which career she would have to choose if she couldn't sit her N.E.W.T.s.

"Gotta see it from their poin o' view," Hagrid said. "I mean, it's always bin a bit of a risk sendin' a kid ter Hogwarts, hasn' it? Yer expect accidents, don' yeh, with hundreds of underage wizards all locked up tergether, but attempted murder, tha's diff'rent. 'S'no wonder Dumdledore's angry with Sn—"

Hagrid stopped abruptly, looking guilty, and unsuccessfully attempted to convince Harry that he hadn't been about to mention Professor Snape.

At Hagrid's suggestion that Dumbledore wanted Snape to make investigations into Slytherin House, Hermione and Harry exchanged a long look that made it clear who the primary suspect was. Wanting to avoid a conversation about whether or not Draco was behind the attacks, she slipped off to her dormitory as soon as they reached the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione was finding it progressively more difficult to make a case for Draco's innocence.

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_A/N: Review and win yourself one of Draco's favorite treat, Blood-flavored lollipops!_


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